Posts Tagged ‘sydney’

Oh yes, that’s right, I was in Sydney a while ago, wasn’t I? I guess I should probably finish writing that up, huh? Good idea, self.

We left our luggage at the hotel in the morning and went off to finally explore some of the more touristy parts of town. First stop, predictably, was Circular Quay; we’d been given some sage advice to take a commuter ferry for a trip instead of a tourist one. We caught one to Darling Harbour and the prices were pretty reasonable at about six dollars each for us grown-ups. The Rocket was unimpressed by the wind but thrilled by the fact that we were actually on a boat – her first non-rowboat experience – so she managed to sit at the back* of the boat with us for a decent amount of our half-hour-ish trip. And let’s face it, the reason everyone bangs on so much about ferries and Sydney Harbour is because is is BEAUTIFUL. It really is. That lapping blue water, the majestic bridge, that tingle when you see the Opera House (just like in the movies, right?), realising properly that you are in another place, and one that slaps Melbourne’s water experience right on the cheek. If you are in Sydney, take a ferry. I wish we’d gone on one every day.

So off we went to Darling Harbour. There’s a maritime museum over the other side of the harbour that looks really interesting – ships and submarines and all types of things that you can climb on – and it went on my list of “what to do here next time, and make sure there’s a next time, punk”. We ambled along the wharf, looking at the restaurants indecisively, passing Madame Tussaud’s and a zoo and an aquarium, wishing the Rocket was older and we had an endless stretch of days ahead of us to do all these things. (There’s even a “9D” movie experience, yup.) As it was, off we went along the bridge and around Sydney’s streets until we got to Westfield Centrepoint, where we came over desperately hungry for lunch, completely unable to find a food court, and so ate at Caffe Contessa, a little European-type bistro located at the end of an escalator. There wasn’t much on offer for me, but it was a very cute little cafe and I could just have toast; the service turned out to be super-friendly and helpful and I ended up with another vegan staple, the bruschetta, while Teach ordered some cheese melty thing and the Rocket got toast with jam. Turns out, it was delicious. I mean, it was bread and tomatoes and olive oil – but they got it right, and I am always having bruschetta at crap restaurants with nothing else to offer. Having said that, after we were full and happy and paid up, we took another escalator up and lo and behold there was the motherflipping food court and it was HUGE and it had EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD to eat, including an Iku which I had been desperate to try. Anyway, we laughed, we sulked, and carried on to the Sydney Tower, Sydney’s tallest building and Australia’s third-tallest building. We paid our exorbitant fee to go up the Tower, attempted the 4D movie about Sydney with flying and flames and a vibrating floor (the Rocket noped her way out of that almost immediately, but I stayed because awww yeah 4D movies), then went up a lift and bam, tall building.

I don’t know what she was shushing up here. Probably me saying, “Smile, kiddo! Smile! Smile! Pose! No, this way!”

Melbourne wins this round. Sydney Tower is fine, but maybe needs a little updating; Eureka Tower is much more glossy, and sells coffee. It was nice to look out imperially over the little people down there on the ground, and to try and get my bearings, which I couldn’t because I am hopeless at directions (chicks, amirite? Haha etc) and I always love a tower, but it wasn’t very high and I was a little underwhelmed. I mean, it wasn’t a boat, that’s for sure.

We considered taking the train back to the hotel, but really, we just wanted to walk some more, slowly down those streets one last time, poking around the stores and just enjoying being elsewhere, you know?

The Rocket didn’t manage to get in a nap, and maintained excitement levels all day long and all through our train trip to the airport and the long wait for our flight, and after a little impatience at boarding (argh! boarding) she was thrilled and happy again to be on a plane, even in the darkness that fell as we flew interstate. Then finding our car, and driving home, tired, happy, with a toddler that was, mostly, a total peach for our trip, and a city that was absolutely perfect. Thanks, Sydney – you’re ace. x

* Teach and I spent a minute or so trying to figure out what the back of a boat is called. “The stern? Or the bow. No, the bow’s the front. Wait. Is it the aft?” So let’s assume you don’t know either, and let’s stick with “back”.

There are few things more satisfying than opening up your heavy hotel curtains to find the sky as blue as a 90s teen heartthrob’s eyes. It means your day is going to go well, your party hair isn’t going to become soggy, and your kid won’t have to lug around an umbrella and poke other people in the shins with it. So up we all got, ate some cereal, then spent far too long making ourselves all very beautiful for the party we were to attend in the afternoon. The Rocket and her dad had gone out two days before while I was at work and picked her a very froufrou frock, all tulle and sparkles, which she wore with skull and crossbones sneakers; I’d hit up Dangerfield a couple of nights before for my own Melbourne-black frock with a pair of cityscape tights; Teach wore a white shirt with bicycles on it and looked very handsome. We layered up with coats and caught the train to Newtown for our to-do.

Nicked from the Wedpics site (pretty handy tool for those getting hitched or not hitched) and taken by the superlative C, party-thrower extraordinaire

Firstly, Sydney public transport requires you to know which station you’re going to and touch-screen your way to a ticket; some other machines have this totally hilarious system with some fifty or however many actual pushable buttons to pick your destination. Melbourne has Myki so I can hardly criticise, but it was pretty fun for us all to jab at the buttons while laughing in a mocking fashion. Anyway, once we were beyond that we moseyed onto our destination, via the quite lovely Hollis Park, which had an elaborate, split-level playground. It’s seriously beautiful around there, all sloping hills and gorgeous close-knit houses looking over parks. Newtown, or at least the small part we went to, was full of giant second-hand bookshops (the Rocket led me to the economics aisle and made me read her the titles), cutesy little shops full of stuff I would’ve spent all my money on if I’d gone through those doors, and vegan restaurants. Our destination was Rubyos, a lovely fresh-looking restaurant where we had our own room walled off and I walked through the door to be greeted by a bunch of people so friendly and just gloriously, colourfully stylish, that I was immediately happy. The Rocket looked shy for a while until complimented on her dress, then foofed around twirling for a while. The non-bride and non-groom were beautiful, polished, and beaming; there was talk, and merriment, and readings, declarations of love for this moment if not an unknown future, and singing and such emotion that I almost couldn’t even. It was sweet and funny and original and I loved everyone by the end, including everyone who was very kind to the Rocket even though she was the youngest by some twenty years. To her credit, she was pretty great: she talked during the ceremony, but only because she wanted to narrate out loud the Maisy book I brought along to shut her up. She had puppy stickers and a book to put them in, but most of the stickers ended up on the guests as she happily shared them with everyone and eventually had people coming over for requests. And the food, guys, OH the food – it was GLORIOUS and there was MOUNTAINS of it. Grazing plates of glory: beginning, I think, with an antipasto that had the most absolutely genuinely best crackers and baba ganoush I have ever, ever had, and a tasty little salad and olives (blech) and other things; there were rice burgers that fell apart but tasted heavenly; steamed green beans with ginger, lime, and cashew nuts (I think), which weren’t my thing but Teach adored; ancient grain and vegetable patties; the best fucking potatoes I may have ever ever had; so much more, I don’t know. It ended with cupcakes that stained people’s mouths blue as everyone kissed goodbye. It was, of course, totally worth the trip, and I’m so glad we went.

Totally stolen from C’s sister. Sorry H! It was just such a loverly picture. x

We went home in the cooling afternoon and tucked the Rocket in for a nap. Teach sent me out to get a coffee and explore the city on my own, and I wandered the streets, excited to be somewhere new, somewhere so familiar – all the stores, of course, are essentially the same as home – yet the streets were too big, or too small, and the buildings were wrong, and so beautiful. I couldn’t find anywhere for coffee but ended up at a now-forgotten chocolate shop where I did some sketching (I remain genuinely terrible but I like drawing pictures of the Rocket doing ridiculous things) and had a fairly average coffee that made me quietly smug about Melbourne’s coffee scene. Just as I finished, Teach let me know that the Rocket had rejoined the waking world, so back I went, we regrouped, and went out for a walk.

Our aim was Bodhi, upon the advice of many friends who said it was great but we had to be okay with spending big. We are very talented at wasting money on food, and seeing as we’d already blown a stack of cash just getting to Sydney there was no point in holding back on a tasty night’s dinner, so off we went. Hyde Park was on our way, and I really can’t tell you how happy I always am to encounter mid-city parks. The juxtaposition of city buildings and grass to run around on – it’s great. So we ran around, then unexpectedly bumped into a street gang of possums who, unlike our local skittish brand, happily came right up, sniffed your sneakers and begged for food. The Rocket was very pleased if not slightly alarmed about the whole scenario; I’m sure our local possum hunts are forever ruined by this version. After getting confused and not figuring out the multilayers of the park, we found our way sideways and underneath to Bodhi, a sprawling, glittery place with outdoor heaters, friendly staff and trees knotted with fairy lights. They could have fed me torn paper bags and I wouldn’t have cared, it was just so lovely. We sat outside so we could get rice on the ground and ordered.

Overwhelmed by choice, we ordered plain rice for the Rocket, who jabs at all menus and yells “RICE!” at waiters even if we are at a pizza joint; edamame (as always); English spinach gow dumplings; Australian mushroom gow dumplings; smoked soy, coconut, chili and coriander betel leaves; chickpea battered winter vegetables with sour cream and sweet chili sauce; san choy bao and sweet yam tempura spring rolls. Edamame: excellent as per usual (and much better than the night before, slathered in salt); spinach dumplings A++; mushroom dumplings awful as mushrooms are awful (Teach adored them though); betel leaves miniature but absolutely incredible; battered winter vegetables hit and miss (I was also full once I got to them); san choy bao super tasty even though the Rocket, devastatingly, threw half the lettuce on the ground; the sweet yam was nice but way way too sweet. Share with four people, or maybe eight so you can have half each. One made me a little queasy. Still, it was a beautiful, satisfying meal, the service was lightspeed-fast, and it did cost a lot but hey, worth it. I pondered a few times during ordering about getting the peking duck, but kept talking myself out of the $23, and since regretted it entirely after my colleague Alison said, “You went to Bodhi, right, and got the peking duck? I have literally flown to Sydney just to eat that dish.” DAMMIT PAST FIONA, YOU NEVER LEARN. It cost us around eighty bucks and was worth it.Then back home via the lit-up streets around Sydney Tower (which was closed, pah), and back to the hotel for the Rocket to sleep soundly in her metal prison while her jailers sat on the couch with Nickelodeon and popcorn.

We arrived in Sydney around one o’clock on Saturday. It was windy but bright, a wholesome twenty degrees, and someplace different. For one, the airport has a train. Sydney 1, Melbourne 0.

It costs about $16.40 to get an adult onto the airport line into the city proper – it’s only about three stops to Central, so I’m not sure if it’s cheaper to get a taxi if there’s a few of you. The Rocket was free, so we sucked up the thirty-plus dollars and delighted in being on a double-decker train. Our hotel was a short walk from Central, so we wheeled ourselves over and checked in. I was in charge of booking as Teach was armpit-deep in reports at the time, so I spent a few days getting increasingly agitated about how expensive it is to stay places, and not having any visual of where in Sydney is good or safe or close or fun, and panicking about the date getting closer and everything selling out and us sleeping in an internet cafe. Eventually I chose the Campbell Street Meriton Apartments, because they had an immediately available online chat and could answer all of my questions about cots and babies and stuff, and their prices seemed relatively competitive, especially for the size of the rooms. (Not that I would know. I am just awful at booking things. If it’s on sale, I’ll find out, the day after I’ve paid upfront and signed a no-refund disclaimer. It’s just not one of my skills, sadly.) Anyway, it turns out that the reason it was a bit expensive was because it’s right in the middle of the city, and quite nice; armed with a bit more knowledge I would probably stay a few suburbs further out next time and just catch a train in. Still, as Past Fiona had already paid for it and Present Fiona got to stay there, it was a nice place: a one-bedroom serviced apartment, which meant we could get the Rocket to sleep in a separate room and then go watch free Foxtel in the lounge/kitchen. For another $35 we had a cot put in the room; it was pretty small, and with metal prison bars instead of gentle white wood like the one at home we inherited from my sister. As we settled in, we tried to get her to sleep, but she wasn’t really on board with that idea. Instead we got her up and took her for a wander around.

This door to our hotel: most fun thing in New South Wales

It’s hard not to compare Sydney to Melbourne the whole time. In my mind where we stayed was the equivalent to the Spring Street end of Little Bourke, with theatres and people but narrow streets and not quite the level of excitement of the bigger streets. Sydney is cleaner, but maybe less friendly – unless it’s just that it’s unfamiliar – and has almost no street art in the places we were. There weren’t many cute little shops to go into, though there were lots of tasty-looking eateries. We strolled up Pitt St just as gale-force winds hit; hats flew off people’s heads and one person was attacked bodily by an errant newspaper. The Rocket has stopped enjoying wind and instead chose to wail, so we went into a Coles for a bit to buy some milk and cereal, then went up to Kings Comics and talked ourselves out of piles of collectible toys we didn’t need. It was nearing dinnertime, so, having previously consulted my friends online about where to go, we had dinner at Mother Chu’s Vegetarian Kitchen.

It was a patchy start; we got there at about five past five but weren’t given our mains until about a quarter to six, though we’d had some (sadly unsalted) edamame to start. The service was very friendly, however, and the Rocket just happy to be indoors. The menu mostly calls things “soy” or “gluten” instead of the usual “duck” or “chicken”, and doesn’t elaborate on the flavours. I chose crispy bean curd with mushrooms and broccoli; Teach picked a crispy gluten dish. Once they turned up, we were much more positive; the food is pretty delicious, and maybe we’d just been a bit tired and cranky. My bean curd wasn’t crispy, but it was warm and good and there was tons of it and I ate it all up, only managing to get a little of Teach’s crispy gluten before he scoffed all his too. The Rocket was happy with her bowl of rice, a bunch of edamame and some of my tofu. If I’m in Sydney again, I’d give it another shot for sure, maybe this time calling a day in advance so I could have some of their vegetarian Peking Duck, or some steamed BBQ buns, or satay sticks.

We decided to call it a night after that, and took the Rocket back to the hotel, tucked her in, consoled her, tucked her in, gave her toys, went back and picked up her toys from the floor, tucked her in, etc etc for all eternity until she finally slept. Then we ate candy and watched terrible television until we were sick, because if there’s one thing we do well, it’s knowing how to waste being in a different city.

what is this even

Fiona: 32, bookseller, podcaster, reviewer. Owner of a kid and a boyfriend an ability to rabbit on endlessly. Also, I am someone who eats potato chips for dinner far too often for someone masquerading as an adult.

Here to document the places I go in the fair city of Melbourne, and whether they are totally down with having a kid with you or whether they are mean to you like that scene in Pretty Woman, except that instead of going back shortly afterwards and sassing the salespeople you have to wait eighteen years before you go back with your kid and say, "See! I totally raised a respectable human being! Suck it!" and then the teenager that works there calls the police and what was I talking about again?